


Facing the Wall

by the_random_writer



Series: Separated Twins [8]
Category: Bourne (Movies), RED (Movies), The Bourne Supremacy (2004)
Genre: Brothers, CIA, Confessions, Crossover, Gen, Guilt, Regret, Starting Over, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 11:31:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10555588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_random_writer/pseuds/the_random_writer
Summary: A crossover where William Cooper from 'RED' and Kirill from 'The Bourne Supremacy' are identical twins.Born in Berlin to an American mother and a Russian father, the twins were separated at the age of ten by their parents' divorce. William went to the United States with their mother, while Kirill went to the Soviet Union with their father.William and Kirill take a moment at the end of a busy day to reflect on their various sins.Takes place in late October 2010.





	

Kirill lowered himself onto the bench, wincing as a bolt of pain shot up his damaged leg. Eleven months on from the accident in Moscow, and the damn thing was still giving him a world of grief, especially on days like today, when the weather was cold and damp.

He let out a sigh, then leaned against the marble-covered wall behind him, absorbing the coolness of the glossy stone. Other than an occasional noise from the guard at the main security desk, the cavernous lobby was quiet and still. Then again, it _was_ coming up on seven o'clock—well past normal working hours, even for an organization as perpetually busy as the CIA.

His own work for the day was done, but he wasn't ready to leave the building yet. He was hitching a ride with his older brother, who was stuck in a meeting up on the seventh floor. It should have ended an hour ago, but if there was one thing Kirill had realized in the last couple of months, it was that gatherings up on six or seven rarely respected the passage of time. The meeting would end when the higher-ups decided it was ready to end, and not a moment before. But he didn't mind. Catherine was working tonight, so it wasn't as if he had anything more interesting to do at home.

This wasn't the first time he'd found himself wandering the complex after hours, peeking into its nooks and crannies while he waited for William to call it a day. No matter where his wanders took him, they always ended the same way, with him sitting on this particular bench, looking at this particular wall. The [CIA Memorial Wall](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/CIA_Memorial_Wall) to honour employees who'd died in the line of duty.

He scanned across the rows of stars, counting them one by one. One hundred and one in total, each one measuring half an inch deep and two and a quarter inches tall. As always, he paused at the end of the bottom row to consider the two most recent additions—the stars created for Eric Schroeder and Daniel Manning. The two men he'd shot to death in Berlin, almost a year ago. One on the stairs on the way up, one in the room on the seventh floor.

He'd expected his guilt in that affair to be too much for even the CIA to accept, but in this, as in many other matters, he'd eventually been proven wrong. After seven months of complicated legal discussions, the Company had finally decided he was worth the trouble and risk of keeping on. The massive amounts of information he'd provided about Russian intelligence operations, including the location of a GRU safe house in Seven Corners, had no doubt helped to grease the wheels.

As of three and a half months ago, he officially existed again, this time not as a German-born, half-American Russian, but as a fully-fledged citizen of the United States. To his enormous relief, the lawyers had allowed him to keep his original name. He had nothing against his mother's relations, but Kirill Alexander Cooper didn't exactly roll off the tongue. They'd also given him a social security number, which in turn had allowed him to acquire a bank account, a driver's license, a cell phone, a place to live and the meagre beginnings of a credit rating.

More importantly, the Company had given him something to do. It wasn't the best paying job in the world, or the most exciting. So far, he'd spent most of his time translating phone calls, documents and emails from Turkish or Farsi into English, but that was enough to keep him busy for now. He understood that better work would come with time, once he had proved he could keep his nose clean and do exactly as he was told.

When the lawyers had handed his documents to him, their message had been _very_ clear. Behave and stay loyal to the States, or we take the whole lot back. What one hand giveth, the other hand can just as easily taketh away. He'd accepted their heavy-handed warnings without a single word of complaint. He had no intention of misbehaving or committing treason against his new home, for William's sake as much as his own. It wasn't just his freedom and future at stake—it was his brother's career and professional reputation as well. He would never put his sibling at risk, not after everything Michelle and William had done for him.

Footsteps echoed around the hall, approaching swiftly from the left. They paused for a moment—probably as the person behind them swiped through the security gate—but quickly resumed. 

Kirill tensed and shrank away as Arthur Carrington marched commandingly through the hall, immaculately dressed in one of his custom, thousand dollar suits, his equally expensive trench coat casually draped across an arm. The Russian made no attempt to attract the older man's attention. Since coming to Langley, he'd made a decent number of friends, but the infamously arrogant head of the Internal Affairs department would always be an implacable foe. Kirill could live with that. Carrington didn't like a lot of people, but a lot of people, including William and most of Kirill's own team, didn't much care for Carrington, either.

As the other man strode out the door, Kirill turned to the wall again. One hundred and one, half an inch deep, two and a quarter inches tall. Eric Schroeder and Daniel Manning.

All things considered, he'd had an interesting last couple of months. In some ways, working for the CIA really wasn't terribly different from working for the FSB. Langley was full of the usual, apparently unavoidable problems. Incompetent assholes who couldn't be trusted to wipe their own ass without somehow fucking it up (but who were apparently too well-connected to simply be shown the door). Back-stabbing, egotistical pricks who never got anything useful done because they spent all of their time and energy taking out anyone they viewed as a threat. Shitty pay, long hours, too much work, too many meetings, spineless leaders, a lack of support from the higher-ups. And the paperwork.  _Bozhe fucking moi_. He almost couldn't go for a piss without filling out a dozen forms.

Fortunately, it wasn't all bad. There were plenty of good people in the building as well, people who truly loved their jobs and genuinely believed in the work, people like William, who simply wanted to serve their country however and whenever they could. He'd seen patriotism at Yasenevo and Lubyanka as well, but usually of a darker and less forgiving kind. And the Company was nowhere near as corrupt. It wasn't lily-white by any means—what national intelligence agency was—but unlike its Russian equivalent, it didn't have its sticky fingers in every dodgy racket in town. At least, not that his job had so far allowed him to see. That opinion, like many others, could very well change with time.

To his surprise, he was actually enjoying his new vocation, even if it wasn't exactly a thrilling ride. He liked and respected his (female) boss, and was slowly but surely figuring out how to get along with everyone in his team, cultural differences and all. Sometimes, the bullshit and politics got a bit much, and he felt like putting on his coat, telling everyone to go fuck themselves and walking out the front door to join the nearest Russian gang. Then he remembered what he had done and why he was here, and that he hadn't as yet earned the freedom or right to walk away.

At the end of those days, he made a point of coming down to the lobby to look at the wall. At the pair of stars on the bottom row that only existed because of him, that might as well have been painted in his own blood. And just like that, his sense of frustration melted away.

Footfalls echoed around the lobby again, not rushing, moving at a decent pace, someone confident, controlled and calm. Kirill grinned. This time, he knew _exactly_ who the person was. He could almost hear the way his brother swaggered, swinging his shoulders as he moved. Not that he didn't sometimes swagger when he walked himself. He wondered, was it an Orlov or a Cooper thing? The older women in his team adored it, thought it made William look like 'strutting sex'. Whatever the hell _that_ meant.

Sure enough, a few seconds later, William sauntered into view. The older brother looked around and smiled as he saw his twin. "Thought I might find you here," he said.

"How was your meeting?" Kirill asked, shuffling to one side of the seat.

Sighing softly, William joined him on the bench. "The usual," he said with a weary air. "Long, frustrating, unproductive."

"Too many mouths, not enough ears?" A common problem in this part of the world. Most Americans loved to talk, but very few of them loved to listen.

William nodded. "Just a room full of people waiting for everyone else to shut up so they could start talking again. Wouldn't be so bad if more of them actually had an opinion worth listening to."

"It must have been an interesting topic for the meeting to run so late."

"Very," was all his brother said.

"Anything I can help with?"

"That depends. How much do you know about the Ecuadorian judicial system?"

Kirill snorted. "About as much as I know about childbirth or knitting," was his honest but unhelpful response. "I am not entirely sure I even know where Ecuador is."

"Then no, you can't."

"Plus, if it was one of your special seventh floor meetings, I doubt you would be allowed to read me into the file," Kirill reminded his higher-ranking twin.

"There is that, yeah."

Silence for a few moments, then William frowned and asked, "Kir, why do you do this?"

The Russian cocked a questioning brow. "Why do I do what?"

"Why do you come down here to look at the wall?"

A simple question with a relatively simple response. "When I have a shitty day at work, and I feel like I want to take someone down to the basement and kill them, coming here helps me to calm down."

"Wouldn't a trip to the shooting range be even better?"

"Probably, but remember I am not yet authorized to carry a weapon. I have to wait until the end of my probationary period."

William wrinkled his nose, as if not being allowed to carry a gun was the worst of all possible fates. "Forgot about that," he muttered. "Six months, right?"

"Until the end of January, yes."

"Think you'll stop coming here once you're allowed to go for some ballistic therapy instead?"

Kirill paused to consider the question, then briefly shook his head. "I think I will be coming here for many months yet," he quietly confessed.

"It's something more than just a way to deal with stress, isn't it?"

This time, his response was a nod. "Looking at the wall reminds me that no matter how badly my day is going, it could easily be even worse, and that I am very lucky to be alive. It reminds me that life is not always about what I _want_ to do. Sometimes, it is about what I _need_ to do instead."

William gave a nod of his own, grasping what he was trying to say. "And you think one of the things you need to do is atone for your sins."

"Yes."

"Or, at the very least, the sins that impacted the CIA."

"I cannot bring Eric Schroeder or Daniel Manning back from the grave," Kirill went on, gesturing at the wall again. "But I _can_ do something to prevent other CIA employees from meeting a similar fate."

"Think you'll ever feel like you've paid off your debt?"

"When I make a contribution that ends with two lives being saved instead of two people being killed, perhaps then, I will feel less guilty about what I did in Berlin." 

Unfortunately, that kind of opportunity wasn't likely to come his way while he was stuck in his current role. Another reason not to misbehave.

William snorted and shook his head.

"Something amusing?" Kirill asked.

"Just occurred to me that maybe you're not the only one who should be coming down here to reflect on their sins," William murmured.

"What sin are you guilty of?"

"The same one as you," his brother revealed. "Putting another star on that wall."

He was about to ask what William meant, when understanding dawned. "You are talking about what happened with your former boss." The late and so far unlamented Cynthia Wilkes.

"Yeah."

"Which one is hers?"

"Bottom row, third from the end."

Next to the stars for Schroeder and Manning. Which made sense, given the timing of their deaths. But why in all the times he'd been coming here had he never noticed her inclusion in the list before? Had he really been so immersed in his own feelings of guilt and shame that he'd never paused to consider his twin's?

His lack of awareness wasn't the only thing that didn't add up. "Why does Cynthia even _have_ a star?" he asked. "I know you didn't tell the Company the full version of what happened that day, but you did tell them she'd ordered the deaths of innocent people. She might have died on the job, but when you read the criteria for inclusion in the memorial, she doesn't exactly fit the bill."

"Don't know for sure, but I think the higher-ups decided it would raise more questions if she didn't have one. Adding her to the Wall made it easier for them to pretend she wasn't completely corrupt, and sweep the whole business under the rug."

"Was there a ceremony?"

"Back at the end of May. They unveiled hers at the same time as Schroeder's and Manning's."

"Did you attend?"

William shook his head. "Made a point of being at a meeting out of town while it was going on."

"I don't blame you for staying away," Kirill told his twin, trying to provide some belated support. "I think in your shoes, I would have done the same thing."

"It was actually mostly because of you. I knew Carrington would be there for Manning's wife and kids. Your case was still under review at the time, and I thought it best to stay out of his way. Didn't want to say the wrong thing, make your situation worse." William sighed, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I also wasn't sure I could look Cynthia's brother in the eyes. She was a lying, scheming, two-faced bitch, and I _truly_ believe I did the right thing, but she was also somebody's younger sister. If there's one thing I understand, it's how much it hurts to lose a sibling. I don't feel guilty for what I did to her, but I do feel guilty for what I did to him."

Another sigh, then thoughtful silence reigned again.

"We make a hell of a pair, don't we?" William eventually said.

"Yes, we do."

"You _do_ realize mom would be horrified?"

In the softest of voices, Kirill added, "But papa would be _very_ proud." He couldn't answer for the swagger, but the killing and the lying? That was _definitely_ an Orlov thing.

"And I'm pretty sure some of the guys in the psychology group would have a field day with us."

Kirill frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The whole nature versus nurture thing. Think about it, _bratishka_. We grew up thousands of miles apart, in two completely different cultures, raised by two completely different parents, but somehow, we both end up in the military, then making a living by taking care of people on government orders."

"Does that trouble you?" Kirill asked. He himself had never given the similarity of their paths more than a passing thought. If anything, he'd been extremely relieved to find out the two of them had so much in common. His reunion with William might have been a different story if his brother had been a dentist or an accountant instead.

"Sometimes, yeah. Makes me worry about the kids, what kind of people they might turn out to be."

Kirill's lips twitched. "I would say not to worry because they will probably take after Michelle, but after what happened in the parking lot at Whole Foods last week, I am not sure that would be any better."

William snickered. "She _does_ get a bit scary when she works up a head of steam. One of the things I've always loved about her. She'll fight for whatever she thinks is right, with every ounce of willpower she's got, and she won't take shit from anyone while she's doing it."

"Not even from you?"

" _Especially_ not from me."

"I actually felt sorry for the driver of the other car."

"Really? I didn't."

Kirill huffed. "And people think _I_ am the evil twin?"

"Kir, I don't know how it works in Moscow, but here in America, stealing somebody's parking space is a _very_ serious state of affairs."

"So it seems."

"But enough with the talking," William declared, suddenly pushing away from the bench. "Work's finally done for the day, so let's get the hell out of here, head back to your place, have some takeout pizza and a couple of beers. The Phillies are playing the Giants tonight, game starts in twenty-five minutes."

"You told me you didn't like baseball," Kirill complained, having no interest in the sport himself. Hockey and soccer were more his thing.

"Not a huge fan, but it gives me a reason to put away a couple of cold ones while I shout at a bunch of overpaid jerks. Good stress relief. Quieter and safer than hitting the range."

Kirill had a better idea. "Wouldn't you rather watch the Capitals at the Bruins instead?"

William grunted. "Thought about that, but the game started a few minutes ago, and after the beating the Caps took the other night at home, I'm pretty sure it's gonna end in a way my blood pressure won't enjoy."

"If you have more than one beer, you won't be able to drive home at the end of the night."

"I'll leave my car in your parking space, take a taxi home instead. You can swing by and pick me up in the morning."

Kirill nodded. An arrangement they'd used a few times before, and easy enough, given the distance between his apartment and William's house. He thought of another possible block. "What about Michelle?" he asked. "Surely she would rather you spend the evening at home with her and the kids instead?"

"Not on a Thursday, no."

Kirill frowned again.

Seeing his confusion, William quickly provided a prompt. "Book club night, remember? House'll be drowning in subtext and Sauvignon Blanc."

Of course. Michelle's weekly gathering with the well-read women of McLean. Although, he'd seen the book club in question in action, and was fairly sure the only thing the members read were the labels on the bottles of wine. But Michelle enjoyed it, and it gave his brother a good excuse to have a night away from the house, so who was he to complain?

Kirill hauled himself up from the bench, wincing as the pin in his ankle twinged again.

"Still giving you trouble?" William asked, brows furrowed in fraternal concern.

The Russian gave a nod, then said, "But not as much as even a month ago. The surgeons told me I will always walk with a slight limp, but the pain should eventually fade to almost nothing. I just need to treat it well and give it enough time."

"You've already managed to come back from the dead," William drolly pointed out. "Waiting for a busted ankle to heal should be a piece of cake."

As the two of them turned to move away, Kirill snuck another glance at the Wall. One hundred and one, half an inch deep, two and a quarter inches tall. Eric Schroeder and Daniel Manning.

And yes, now he thought about it, why not Cynthia Wilkes as well? The sin wasn't his, but with everything William had done for him, bearing that additional burden was the least he could do for his twin in return.

Perhaps with time, the guilt they felt for the trio of deaths would fade to almost nothing as well. 

It wouldn't happen anytime soon, but that was okay. Like everything else in this strange, new, reunified life, they would handle it a day at a time.


End file.
